


night shift

by jeannedarc



Category: EXO (Band), SHINee, VIXX
Genre: M/M, sorry for not giving it to you this time, y'all deserve the world taekai stans, y'all i'm so sorry that there's this One Taekai Drabble mixed in with all this vixx
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-06 19:41:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12824664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeannedarc/pseuds/jeannedarc
Summary: sometimes after dark things get a little spooky.





	1. kid's stuff

**Author's Note:**

> so i did a drabble request meme of only spooky prompts over on twitter, like...last week? and there were enough requests and stories that i felt passionate about (i don't express this enough, but writing spooky-themed things is my favourite) that i wanted to make a little collection. i hope this isn't too much a mess, wow.
> 
> first drabble is for [mia](http://archiveofourown.org/users/subsequence). love you kiddo.

It's the middle of the night, and Sanghyuk wants to play games. Of course he does, because he's a demon and doesn't really need sleep, but Taekwoon is so tired that it aches in his bones. He agrees, knowing full well what happens when he doesn't, and Sanghyuk's face lights up.

Taekwoon smiles, exhausted, knowing that the little twinkle of mischief in the younger's eyes is what makes this effort worth it.

They're sitting in the living room, a couple candles lit (lately Hakyeon's been on this kick where he doesn't like the lights on if normal people, such as himself, are trying to sleep, and for reasons Taekwoon hasn't quite figured out there's an influx of candles in the dorm). Sanghyuk has lit some incense, and it's burning on a stand off to the side, making Taekwoon's nose wrinkle. They're face-to-face, staring each other in the eyes, Sanghyuk grinning and Taekwoon trying his best even though all he wants to do is pass out, and both their hands are on the board between them.

"So how does it work?" Taekwoon asks in a murmur.

Sanghyuk bounces from his seat on the floor, fingertips drumming against the wood beneath his hands. "We're going to contact the other side, hyung."

That sounds promising. Taekwoon bites his tongue. Outside the door to the balcony, the wind beats against the glass, almost hard enough to make him jump. The clouds move in quickly, obscuring any and all light from the moon, settling the room in darkness save the flickering flames that dot here and there, lighting up their little perimeters and nothing else.

"Close your eyes, okay?" Taekwoon does as he's instructed, only peeking once to make sure Sanghyuk is following his own orders, before settling into whatever this is. "Hello, spirits, it's a beautiful evening for a conversation." Taekwoon laughs quietly. "We'd like to speak with you, if you're willing to talk. Should anyone be out there, feel free to talk to us using this board."

Taekwoon feels a shift, and when he opens his eyes, Sanghyuk's fingers are on the planchette, and he's pinning Taekwoon with a look of command. Taekwoon, in turn, puts his fingertips gingerly on the planchette's edge.

"Let's begin," says Sanghyuk in the most formal tone Taekwoon has heard him use in ages. "Is there anyone among us?"

"We're in a house full of--"

"Hyung, hush." The planchette is still a long moment and then, seemingly of its own volition, the metal beneath their touch starts to move.

_YES._

"Can you tell us your name?"

Another beat, and then: _NO._

"Are you a friendly spirit?"

Taekwoon scoffs, but the planchette only wiggles a little, ending up again on _NO._ He can hear Sanghyuk inhale sharply, but no exhale, and Taekwoon wants to reach out and shake the younger on the shoulder, force him to breathe.

"Who are you?" Sanghyuk again, a bit unsteady, but grinning in that way he does when things are a joke to him.

_NO._

Outside the balcony, the rain starts to pour down in sheets, assaulting the room with the violent sound of something beating, bearing down, nearly breaking.

 _D-I-E._ Neither had asked a question, but there it is, and Taekwoon yelps quietly, shaking his head violently.

"This is a joke, right?" he demands, head high, staring up at the ceiling as if it's going to give him the answers somehow. "You're pushing it or something. You have to be."

"I'm not." Sanghyuk's face is strangely colourless, but he hasn't stopped touching the board; he looks a little like someone incensed, as if he's unable to move.

"Then we have to stop playing," Taekwoon insists, ignoring the trembling in his knees.

"We can't until we ask him to leave."

"Ask him?"

"That's how it works, hyung."

Taekwoon inhales deeply, hoping that somehow, in this moment, his lungs will overfill and he will burst and not have to think about the fact that his boyfriend just _invited a demon spirit into their dorm_.

"Do you bear us ill will?" Sanghyuk asks when he finally lets go, his voice shaking a little.

_NO._

"What are you going to do to us...?" Taekwoon asks, voice a couple pitches higher than he remembers it ever being.

A long, long pause, and then it starts to spell. _K-I-L-L._

Sanghyuk screams, and from somewhere in another room there is a crash, the source unidentifiable. The clouds move out from in front of the moon, illuminating the living room, revealing a nearly tangible form between them, standing over the board. Taekwoon stares into and through the spectral body, bottom lip quivering a little bit, the entirety of his skin covered in almost painful gooseflesh. It is freezing in this room. All the candles save one, the one between the ghost's feet, have gone out in smoke.

Taekwoon quivers when he speaks. His hands have not left the planchette. "Is this what you want?" he asks.

 _YES._ The ghost's vapors lean in, grinning, displaying rows upon rows upon rows of gleaming teeth in its decidedly humanesque face. _D-I-E._

It reaches out with a clawed hand, trying to grab at Taekwoon's throat. Taekwoon scrambles backward on all fours, trying to get out of reach of the demon, his entire body freezing cold with shock and adrenaline. He clambers up onto the couch, then over it, pressing himself against the wall. Even still, it comes at him, its slow approach not enough to keep up with Taekwoon's erratic movements but somehow even more terrifying than if it would have charged. 

"Demon, I ask that you leave this house and never return," declares Sanghyuk, watching Taekwoon try and escape the spirit with all the calm a still sea might provide. The rain pounds harder, as if coming in waves now, and the spirit turns slowly to face Sanghyuk, its evil grin comprised of millions of razor-sharp fangs practically glimmering through the back of its own head. "I ask that you do no harm to my love, and that you exit our space immediately. If you don't understand manners then you can't come back."

(The irony is not lost on Taekwoon, but he says nothing, his voice caught in his throat.)

The demon crosses the room in its slow, meandering way, and tilts its head as it stares down into Sanghyuk's face. "Please get up, please leave the board, please don't let it kill you," Taekwoon is pleading, a babbling mess, his face screwed up with concentration. It pauses, unmoving as a grotesque, and...it sits.

It raises its spectral hand and touches Sanghyuk's hair gingerly. Taekwoon screams in protest, jumping up to stop it from hurting Sanghyuk, but--

The thing, whatever it had been, softens its smile. The planchette beneath Sanghyuk's fingers moves.

_S-O-R-R-Y._

It just sits there, its hand in Sanghyuk's hair, and Taekwoon's crying, shaking, near to death. Sanghyuk just sits there, quiet, still, staring the spectre in the face.

"Do you feel better now?"

_J-O-K-I-N-G._

Taekwoon laughs, strangled, sits down beside Sanghyuk, an arm around his shoulders, pulling him in close, still feeling the need to protect him down to a cellular level.

"Not a good joke, spirit," Sanghyuk points out, pulling on a face of disapproval. "But if you were just joking, you can stay."

They spend the rest of the evening in polite conversation with the thing, and Taekwoon has forgotten how tired he once was, sure he will never sleep again.

(When he finally sees the sunrise peeking in over the city's edge, the demon seems to fade away. But the next night, all his trauma mostly forgotten, Taekwoon gets up from bed to get himself a glass of water, and there is their silent friend, watching, waiting. Taekwoon drops the glass and it shatters between his feet, the sparkling pieces that scatter across the floor reflecting that terrifying smile.

Hakyeon no longer complains about the lights being on at night.)


	2. pet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His bed is barely big enough for him. He likes it that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in continuing trends of my own making i have no idea what i was doing here.  
> for my love, my light, my life; i hope she enjoys this as much as she enjoyed asking for it.

He sleeps during the day, during the time in which spirits aren't awake, the only source of light in his efficiency apartment a couple of prayer candles -- always to Death, always smelling faintly of ancient parchment burning up. He dresses all in black, despite his every friend's best effort to the contrary. He hasn't cut his hair in at least a year; it hangs over his eyes, blocking his vision of the outside world, not that he's looking anyway.

His bed is barely big enough for him. He likes it that way.

At night, when the moon hangs high, he sneaks out the same way he used to when he was a teenager, when he was still accountable to parents who didn't, at the time anyhow, think he was a weirdo. He always has the same thick book tucked under his arm. He's always mumbling the same prayer under his breath.

He goes to the hospital, some nights. This is one of them.

The morgue, for being exceptionally busy, isn't very well guarded; he's been wandering in and out for years now, since he moved out of his family home and realised that graveyards weren't the only place to perform and perfect upon his craft. He is used to the harsh-blue, flickering light that hangs just beyond the door, casting whatever is down the hall -- a room, he thinks he remembers, used for large-scale natural disasters that would normally overflow a normal storage for the dead -- in an eerie, half-there glow. He is used to a tired intern or two sitting to his right when he approaches the door, studying their brains out, cups of coffee in their trembling grips. He is used to the smell of the hospital, clean, bright, almost stinging his nose every time he enters, intensifying when the door closes behind him.

He loves this place, breathes it in deep until his lungs cannot take anymore. No one is here. No one works the night shift when he comes. It is a miracle of the Goddess' making.

There is someone on the table, tonight. They are waiting. They have secrets. He makes his way to their side, an eyebrow arching slightly when he lifts the sheet to reveal...

A handsome face. So stunning, so peaceful, Taekwoon almost thinks they are asleep, until the reality of the situation dawns upon him. He grazes a nail along the curve of this cadaver's cheek, a tiny smile tugging at his lips. The book under his arm tugs at his skin with its energy, and he sets it down on the side of the table and sets to work.

He prays. He asks the Goddess for Her guidance. He believes with all his heart that he will make contact with this person, before they reach the other side. This one is tagged, waiting for someone to pick it up, to do the appropriate things with it that happen when someone passes. He checks the tag. Kim Wonsik. A good name, Taekwoon thinks, humming quietly under his breath. A good person to speak with on this lovely evening.

He checks his watch; it is nearly 3am. Time to begin.

Were he able to see himself, Taekwoon would see the faint purple aura that surrounds him as he waves his hands back and forth over the body on the table. He would see his own hair, shaggy and messy, standing on end as the energy between himself and the dead increasing. He would see his own eyes go black, the intangible, inky tears that run down his cheeks.

He would not, however, see the moment in which the body's eyes snap open.

The stranger -- Wonsik, now, having come back to life -- sits up with great difficulty, the wound in his gut apparently still sore. He looks around. He does not scream. Apparently his last moments were not ones of pain. Taekwoon observes him mutely, tucking his still-tingling hands into the pockets of his jeans.

"What happened?" Wonsik asks, and receiving no answer, he tries to climb off the table to no avail -- his legs don't work properly. It is only now that he realises that something must have happened, because he looks down at the stitches lining his stomach and gasps, horrified. "What..."

"You're dead," Taekwoon says simply, seeing no point in beating around it, not wanting to waste any precious time.

"I'm what?!" Wonsik is a little frantic now, but still groggy, as if someone has awoken him from an extended nap. He kicks his feet a little as they dangle off the table. The toe tag falls off, clatters across the floor.

Taekwoon stoops as it lands before him, picks it up, reads a piece of it aloud. "'Kim Wonsik. Date of death, 02/11/17. Time of death, 23:28. Cause of death, cerebral aneurysm.' Did you know you had an aneurysm?"

"...I did." Here Wonsik looks a little guilty, but he lifts his head, looking in Taekwoon's direction. "Are you real?"

"As real as you need me to be."

"Is this the afterlife?"

"I hope not."

Wonsik offers a pained smile, his pale hand going up to cover his stomach wound. His skin, exposed, does not chill, and Taekwoon gets a good look at a number of tattoos, none of which particularly hold his interest except the one along his collarbone, and only because he has a vested dedication to irony in all its forms. "What is it, then?"

Taekwoon explains, in his most bored voice, "This is the morgue where you're being kept until your family comes for you to do your funeral service." Perhaps, he considers, this was a mistake. He was hoping for some stimulating conversation. He should have known better.

"Funeral...service..." Wonsik stutters a little, disbelieving. It always goes this way. "I had a good life, you know? I had...work, and my dog, and some friends, and my parents and my sisters, and..."

"We all did." Taekwoon clears his throat. "You all. I'm still alive."

"How does it work? I was dead, wasn't I? And then you came here and..."

Taekwoon smiles softly. "Would you like to come someplace with me? I probably won't be able to keep you alive very long, and it would definitely answer your question if you played along."

Swallowing nervously, Wonsik nods. Taekwoon helps him off the table, an arm snaking around his waist, supporting his (literal) dead weight with the entirety of his frame.

They go back to Taekwoon's apartment, the darkness of the cab ride shielding them from any questionable things that might come up. Taekwoon tips the driver extra for his silence, and when they enter the building, Wonsik looks around at the decrepit walls like he's never been inside before.

It might be the most precious, most pure thing Taekwoon has encountered in his life. He simply must keep this one as long as he can.

\---

It has been weeks. Taekwoon's efforts have not previously lasted this long. His efficiency apartment seems a little crowded, these days, but he doesn't really mind it, not as much as he might have with someone else, someone living, their loud energy interrupting his work.

Wonsik wakes up with him at night. His stomach wound is healing, the last remnants of chemicals working their way out of his system through his pores. The apartment doesn't smell like Taekwoon's candles anymore, but he doesn't notice it when he wakes up with his nose buried in Wonsik's brittle, lifeless hair.

His bed is far too small for two people, but they make do. And by the light of the moon, they go to morgues, to graveyards, to bus terminals and train stations, places of death and destruction and loneliness, wherever they want, recharging the spell that keeps Wonsik alive as often as they can.

They are not in love, because Taekwoon doesn't fall in love with his pets, but they are close, and they share secrets, Wonsik speaking of his life, of the family who will never see him again. Taekwoon, in turn, speaks of death, his one true love, and it keeps them up until the sun hangs high in the sky.

Each morning they fall asleep, Wonsik's icy fingers threaded through Taekwoon's warm ones, both smiling softly to themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i'm not gonna tell y'all to follow me on twitter every time but i do just wanna take a minute and thank you for reading, you're super appreciated and i love you very much if you're reading this ♥


	3. bite down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jongin tries, glancing away shyly, not to think about the length of Taemin's neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for not updating despite my promise to do so ;; things got real spooky for a minute there  
> anyway This Is The One With The Taekai so if you're not here for that it's cool and if you are here for that then i'm sorry for everything else grdgfd  
> this one is for kayla. i love you, baby child. you're the best. (thanks for bringing me back to the dark side.)

There's something different about Taemin lately, Jongin notices one evening when they're out doing the usual thing. They wear all-black, they crash 24-hour convenience stores, they drink banana milk and make stupid jokes and kiss when they don't think anyone is watching, ducked down behind the aisles, their faces illuminated by harsh fluorescence and their lips bitten by one another until they're a perfect cherry red.

He looks into Taemin's face, and Taemin is the same he has been for the last lifetime, but not -- imperceptibly so, something just a little bit off about his features. Taemin smiles, and his eyes are just a little too sharp in the focused way they study Jongin during quiet moments. His skin looks a little too dewy; Jongin will have to ask what's changed in his routine. His neck...

Jongin tries, glancing away shyly, not to think about the length of Taemin's neck, the perfect form to it, the long, pale expanse of throat exposed to him when Taemin throws his head back and laughs at something Jongin has said. It is torture, exquisite and extremely painful.

Their midnight snack run completed, they skip through the park, grinning ear to ear, adjacent hands wrapped, together, around the handle of a bag full to the brim with banana milks. Jongin will have none of them; nausea wells up in him at the thought. They take their seats under a tree, and the way Taemin is illuminated by the moon makes Jongin forget their task of getting Taemin full of milk and clamber into his lap. He steals one, ten, a hundred kisses before Taemin even attempts to fend him off.

"Are you okay?" Taemin asks when they're done, Jongin seated comfortably in his lap, the both of them smiling softly, breathless, exhilarated. "You seem like you've been down lately. You haven't been to visit as often." And it’s true: Jongin has been hiding in his apartment during their usual late-night city-romping times more than a person should be comfortable. He’s been working as best he can, given the sudden change in schedule, but adjustments are just that -- awkward and hard to explain to anyone who isn’t going through them themselves.

"Ah..." Jongin is thinking about Taemin's throat again, without his own permission, and he finds a fistful of grass beneath Taemin's thigh, clutches it as if it's going to keep him grounded. "I'm fine. Just tired. You know me."

"I know that, but...you always make time for me." And Taemin's lower lip is jutting out, the colour of the blood swimming beneath the surface.

It is almost more than Jongin can take.

"I'll be better," Jongin intones seriously, resisting the urge that thrums inside him, haunting him, compelling him. "I promise. I'm sorry if you feel neglected."

"I do feel very neglected," Taemin says with a teasing roll of his hips against Jongin's, and all the blood inside him rushes downward -- Jongin can feel its very movement, a sigh escaping him as he grinds down against his best friend, his boyfriend, his everything, he himself very pointedly not thinking about that blood. "Isn't there something you could do to make it up to me?"

"There is," Jongin breathes, ragged, stealing Taemin's mouth in another heated kiss, a meld of lips and tongue that could be described as heaven on earth, were Jongin destined for either of these things in the end.

They rock together in perfect unison, twin skeletons brushing against one another at all the right angles, and Jongin finds himself so lost in the sensation that, when he leans down to dust kisses to the side of Taemin's neck, he cannot control himself any longer.

His fangs run out. He softens the blow by dragging a thick stripe along Taemin's pulse with the flat of his tongue. He bites down, and Taemin moans, shuddering, collapsing into him.

Jongin is still new, still so fresh to all of this, and some foggy part of him is terrified that he will drain Taemin dry. He has not, until this moment, considered feeding from Taemin, but upon tasting the sweetness of his blood, sugar levels amplified by the milk he's been drinking, Jongin nearly doesn't have the power to stop himself. He only pulls back at the last moment, the point of no return, his mouth slick with kisses, with blood, with a red so deep and finite that it defies all logic or reason.

He lifts his head, face all coated and sticky, and holds Taemin by the face, shaking him a little, thumbs skimming the apples of his cheeks. "Are you okay?" he asks, perhaps a bit frantic, his entire being rushing with adrenaline.

Taemin smiles sleepily, his hand coming up and resting over Jongin's, a little of his own blood still dripping down the side of his neck. "You could've just asked...been waiting for that since you turned."

Jongin laughs weakly. "I'll get permission next time, definitely." And he kisses Taemin, lets him taste of his own blood, that focus in his eyes finally dimming as he laps at Jongin’s lower lip.

“You know I love you no matter what,” murmurs Taemin, flagging into Jongin’s arms, holding him as tight as he can given the whole blood loss situation.

In silence, guided by pale moonlight, Jongin holds him back, laying a bloodied lip print to Taemin’s temple. “Always and forever, no matter what.”


	4. life to come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sanghyuk is no longer allowed to plan date night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not actually spooky? maybe? unless the ending counts...  
> this is where the nsfw content lives if you're uncomfy with that ♥  
> this is (confirmed) for [skye](http://twitter.com/CoffeeBeans93) who is amazing wow ♥♥♥

"It isn't weird for you, being stuck in a graveyard at night?" Hakyeon will never admit to this, not in front of Sanghyuk, but he's frightened. Not enough to do anything about it, though Sanghyuk does anyhow, fitting one of his strong arms around Hakyeon's frame and holding him close, protecting him against the clouds of rising fog that graze his skin and make him shiver.

"I used to do this a lot when I was younger," Sanghyuk claims, smiling softly when Hakyeon rests his head upon his boyfriend's shoulder. "It was the only time I got any kind of quiet."

Hakyeon lifts his eyes to meet Sanghyuk's, a fond grin on his face as he rests his forehead in the crook of Sanghyuk's neck.

This is perfect, except for the fact that this place gives Hakyeon the creeps. He's never been fond of final resting places -- he swears he'll be cremated when he finally dies, after a long life of dancing and being in love with Sanghyuk and adopting a dozen cute babies -- and this place is no exception. It's a portrait of a horror film: a crescent moon waning into temporary nonexistence, flowers dotting the plots here and there, a wolf howling somewhere in the distance. They'd had a nice dinner, played some games at a local arcade, and then there's this.

Sanghyuk is no longer allowed to plan date night, Hakyeon decides even as the younger pulls him close for a kiss, mischief plain in his eyes.

They're sitting with their backs to someone's headstone. Hakyeon can feel the lettering pressed into the valley between his shoulderblades, sure to leave indents. But it doesn't matter when Sanghyuk is holding him close, biting into his bottom lip so sharply that Hakyeon lets out a muffled yelp. It doesn't matter when he's flipping them, straddling Sanghyuk to trail kisses down the column of his throat, lingering at his Adam's apple, biting into the swell just above his collarbone.

In moments like these, nothing matters. But the fear starts to creep in just the same, permeating everything, a stench that cannot be forgotten.

He slides down Sanghyuk's body slowly, kissing him through his clothes, too terrified of being caught to undress him even though every part of him wants to see Sanghyuk's pale skin played up by the dim light of the moon. He deftly works open the front of Sanghyuk's jeans, slips his hand in to start palming him through his underwear, relishing the noise he earns out of the younger, the startled sound he makes when Hakyeon presses his thumb into the slit of Sanghyuk's cock.

Daring ever further, he slips those underwear down just enough to expose Sanghyuk, his cock hard, pressing slightly against his belly. In a swift and practiced motion, Hakyeon takes the head of Sanghyuk's cock into his mouth, tongue lapping at the beading precum gathered there, whining softly, unintelligibly about how good his boyfriend tastes. Sanghyuk's hands find their various places, one at the back of Hakyeon's head, one at the side of his neck, thumbing tenderly over his pulse point as Hakyeon works at him with his mouth.

Hakyeon raises his eyes to meet Sanghyuk's, nodding as gently as he can given their positioning, and Sanghyuk knows exactly what to do. He shimmies a bit as Hakyeon pops off his dick with a wet noise, working his pants, his underwear down as much as he safely can. Hakyeon grins wickedly, that killing smile of his, and goes right back to work, taking Sanghyuk in inch by inch until his nose is pressed into the hair at Sanghyuk's base.

Sanghyuk's fingers tangle in Hakyeon's hair, and he leans back against that same headstone, wriggling almost uncontrollably, trying his best to maintain his cool if his expression is any indication. "You ready, babe?" Sanghyuk asks in a laboured whisper, nails scritching gently at Hakyeon's scalp.

Hakyeon makes a noise of assent, and Sanghyuk starts to fuck his face, slowly, carefully at first, but eventually losing that level of control in favour of forcing the tip of his dick roughly down the elder's throat. Hakyeon's chin is slick with spit, with precum from a couple misaimed thrusts; his eyes gather tears at the corners, and he gags a little with how quickly Sanghyuk loses it, but he takes it just the same, loving it, rutting helplessly against the soft earth beneath them, completely gone in the moment.

It doesn't take long -- quicker than usual, Hakyeon will note later -- before Sanghyuk, thrusting almost furiously into Hakyeon's mouth, grunts in the usual way, signaling his release drawing near. Hakyeon reaches up with one hand, pins Sanghyuk's hip with his palm, keeping him to the earth. He doesn't stop, though, keeps bobbing, swallowing hard around Sanghyuk's length, coaxing out of the younger a series of high-pitched whines and pleas and overflows of his name. He pulls off just in time, Sanghyuk spurting cum onto Hakyeon's face, his lips, his chin and throat. A tiny smile graces him as he flirts his tongue very, very softly over the slit of Sanghyuk's cock, making him twitch just a little with the overstimulation of it all.

He's busy streaking his fingers through the mess on his own cheeks and dipping said fingers into his mouth for the taste he so dearly believes he deserves when Sanghyuk tries to pull at him, limbs still weak and noodly. "Can I help you?" asks Hakyeon, bemused, still sucking cum off the pads of his fingers, one by one, clearly attentive to the way Sanghyuk studies the motion.

"Want you," Sanghyuk grumbles, bottom lip sticking out, making grabby hands.

"Haha, no way," Hakyeon says, deadpan, continuing his task in an effort to ignore how incredibly turned on he is. "You're out of your mind if you think I'm letting you get me naked where a dead person is buried."

Sanghyuk tilts his head, a bit slackjawed, disappointment not even beginning to cover it. "...Thought about bringing you here awhile," he points out. "It's kinda hot, isn't it?"

"What do you want, Hyogi?" Hakyeon, finished cleaning himself as best he can without a reflection to look into, takes his spot over Sanghyuk's lap once again, perching, preening, pretty. "Want me to roll over and play dead?"

Later, Sanghyuk will deny it ever, ever happened, but right there in that moment, his dick wakes up from its brief nap, pressing against the inside of Hakyeon's thigh insistently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not gonna update this for a couple days because the next one in the series is a little...okay, it's a lot


	5. earthquake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They can't live without him. So why should they?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RIGHT SO I HAVE BEEN HESITANT TO POST THIS FOR AGES BECAUSE IT IS VERY...very sensitive. major character death ahead, even if you don't actually have time to get attached to said character.   
> it's also...kind of really gross? and i might have cried writing it? i'm so sorry lord jesus please forgive me  
> anyway uh this was requested by [riley](http://archiveofourown.org/users/toastyhyun) and i really am sorry but you know, there's this?

It happens so suddenly, him being ripped from them. Just one bus, a horrific accident in which the brakes failed and a dozen people died, and he's gone. They're left bereft, identifying his body at the local hospital, tears in both their eyes. Hakyeon completely breaks down, knees hitting the filthy linoleum. Jaehwan, never particularly good at being the strong one between the two of them, stoops, his hand on Hakyeon's shoulder.

"He doesn't look like himself," the elder sobs, reaching out and fisting tight fingers in Jaehwan's shirt, pulling him close, crying into his chest.

It's the truth. Sanghyuk is so mangled from the accident that he doesn't look much like anyone. The doctors have already promised that they will take care of him, fix this, make him a little more like himself, but...

"You can't bring back what we lost today," Jaehwan says stonily, shutting it all down, letting Hakyeon cry on his shoulder.

So many things go unsaid in this moment that it breaks them. They both remember bringing Sanghyuk into their home for the first time, he a young college student with a huge crush on his TA Jaehwan, they mature adults who shouldn't have taken advantage of his innocent nature, his bright smile, his incredible body. They did not intend for him to stay. But the longer he was there, the more fond of him they grew, until they decided to keep him.

Love, it is said, happens like an earthquake: with an epicenter, fast and hard and forceful, and with great ripples that impact everyone around.

They had been together, a triad, three years before the accident. They had seen Sanghyuk graduate even when his family hadn't. They had gone through poverty. They had nursed each other through illnesses big and small. Even when they were angry with one another -- it's always difficult reconciling three completely different personalities in one house, after all -- they never stayed that way, smothering one another in affection.

The doctor rambles on about fixing Sanghyuk's face, but she cannot fix his sudden lack of presence. There is very, very little that can be done about that.

Days melt into weeks, ooze into months. Hakyeon and Jaehwan spend most of their free time arguing or, worse yet, avoiding one another. They say losing someone changes people, and losing Sanghyuk has altered their relationship irrevocably. The bed is so much bigger when it's just the two of them, and the space left in Sanghyuk's wake seems almost impossible to fill.

They try to meet new people, but in the end no one comes close to completing them the way their boyfriend had. More often than not they end up kicking the stranger out of their home before the late-night talk shows come on television, and they sit in silence, staring at anything but each other.

Even still, even though they hurt, ache in ways that cannot be explained. They are living through something unimaginable.

And then it occurs to Jaehwan, one day: They can't live without him. So why should they? Why should he wake, night after night, to Hakyeon screaming, crying, begging whatever is out there to bring him back?

His resentment drives him to madness. So he visits a witch doctor, one of the best around from what he's heard, in the poorer section of town, where buildings crumble right on people's heads, and no one wants to give directions. It is the witch doctor who tells him about a ritual to bring someone back from the dead. A person with the right connections can do it. They ask someone that Hakyeon knows from high school, a moody-looking fuck to whom Jaehwan takes an instant dislike, if it can be done.

Said moody-looking fuck agrees it can, but very reluctantly, his tongue trapped behind the veneer of his front teeth a long while before he speaks. "When they've been near or, sometimes, through the veil this long, there can be...complications." He gives them each a significant glance, as if to make them question their decision.

"I don't care," says Jaehwan, and Hakyeon nods along, for once silent, hand finding Jaehwan's under the table and giving it a squeeze. They exchange looks for a moment, then turn their full attention back to the necromancer sitting across a kitchen table from them, hands wrapped around a heavy white mug, steaming with coffee.

"If you're willing to live with the consequences, then I'm willing to do whatever you like."

They do it at three in the morning on a Tuesday, the three of them circled around Sanghyuk's grave. The bastard brings a book -- is he going to get bored? Jaehwan thinks impatiently, his heart aflame with the thought of seeing Sanghyuk's face again, of alleviating the permanent tension between himself and Hakyeon even if for a moment -- and sets it in the corner of their little arrangement.

He prays. He says some words. He waves his hands. His eyes turn black. Hakyeon gasps, terrified.

When it is over, the necromancer stands, dusts off his palms. "I hope you get what you're looking for," he says, monotone, and departs.

Between the two of them, the earth parts. A hand, half-decayed, pokes out of the ground. The dirt opens up further, as if giving birth to this horrifying remnant of Sanghyuk, who crawls out so slowly that Jaehwan swears it must be a dream. His fingers are mostly bone, wriggling with maggots and worms. Hakyeon, panicky as all hell, clambers away on his hands and knees, watching from a bit of a distance. Jaehwan, though -- he just stands there, having gotten to his feet without even registering it.

When Sanghyuk stands there before them, eyes gone but staring between their faces, they realise what, exactly, they've done.

A ghastly groan leaves Sanghyuk's parted, cloven lips. He shambles forward, various insects falling from the holes they've chewed into his skin, writhing uselessly in the dirt, so gorged with the taste of Sanghyuk's flesh they've forgotten know how to function.

This thing is not Sanghyuk. This thing is not even human. They have made a horrible, horrible mistake.

The body before them lets out a horrifying bellow, and rushes at them. It goes to embrace Jaehwan first, but he swings at the charging form, hitting it in the head so hard that its head turns around almost completely. Hakyeon shrieks. "Why are you hurting him?!"

"I'm not hurting Sanghyuk, hyung," Jaehwan points out, icy calm, laying another blow to the head, and another, "because Sanghyuk isn't here."

"Please stop!" Hakyeon is crying again, always crying, and Jaehwan can't stand it, can't stand to see what remains of Sanghyuk's face as well as to see Hakyeon in pain, and when he hits the thing a fourth time its head falls off, rolls along the ground, stopping at Hakyeon's feet.

Jaehwan breathes for the first time in what feels like ages. His entire body rattles with it, ragged, exhausted.

Hakyeon drops to the ground, grass staining his knees, as he picks up what once was Sanghyuk's head, cradles it to his chest, his slight frame heaving uncontrollably.

Jaehwan, despite his own reluctance, goes to Hakyeon's side, drops down beside him, holds him close, the swollen, dismembered head of their boyfriend between their chests.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do...do you still like me...


	6. down by the water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaehwan is going to catch a real actual urban legend on camera, and he’s going to get millions of subs for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again!!  
> this one is not particularly sensitive  
> i actually like this one, uh, probably the best out of all the ones i did for this project  
> if i remember right this one is for [graham](http://archiveofourown.org/users/synthetics) but god it's been so long and i lost the list and i'M SORRY IF IT'S NOT

Early in the morning, when the fog is still lifting from the river and most people are just waking up, he's heading down to the banks in search of it. There's been rumour lately of the presence of a monster not far from his house, and he would positively die to see a monster. It would make his life. Not to mention it'd probably make him a million YouTube subscribers, should he be so lucky as to catch it on video.

Lee Jaehwan, internet celebrity and enterprising motherfucker, is trekking out to the water, standing at its edge in fancy running shoes and nice clothes, being eaten alive by mosquitoes...and there is nothing here. A waste of his time. He scoffs, his camera glued to his hand and his eyes glued to the horizon, where the sun comes up slowly, glowing orange, warming the earth with its touch, its glare. He’s going to catch a real actual urban legend on camera, and he’s going to get millions of subs for it.

Except there’s nothing here. He's about to give up and go home, despite his best friend's words of caution echoing in his mind -- _don't let it fool you; it's shy, it'll wait until you think it isn't looking and then just walk on by_ \-- when something unidentified wanders into his periphery.

His eyes cannot focus on this thing, whatever it may be, but it walks right up to him anyhow, all blurry and elsewhere and imperceptible, and it touches Jaehwan on the shoulder. He does not have time to raise his camera, and even if he did, what chance does it have of seeing this MissingNo in real life?

The thing passes by, and the few exercise enthusiasts nearby aren't paying close enough to see it anyway, so he doesn't bother calling out to them, ask them whether or not he's losing his damn mind. Jaehwan isn't sure, but he's pretty sure a ghost just hit on him.

During his next trip to the water, Jaehwan wears the most broken pair of shoes he owns. He dresses down. He doesn't want attention from anyone else diverting this interaction. Most important, he doesn't put his camera down once, just waits for it to happen, but the thing, whatever it is, doesn't come. He's a lone idiot standing on a riverbank at the crack of dawn waiting for absolutely nothing.

"Okay, noted," he says aloud, whistling low and rolling his eyes. He puts his phone in his pocket. He sees a flash, blurry, in the corner of his eye. Fuck.

That night he does some research online, trying to find information on this...whatever it is (he hasn't come up with a clever, eyecatching name for it yet, although the gears are in constant motion). Apparently he's not the only person who's ever had this experience, although he _is_ the only one to whom it's gotten close enough to touch...

"Weird," he says aloud, scrubbing his palms over his eyes.

They say it kills. That it drags people down into the dredges of the river, holds them to the silt until they breathe their last, never to be seen by anyone but inquisitive, hungry minnows again.

It hasn't killed Jaehwan. It has touched him, perhaps marked him for death at a future time, but that doesn't mean he's dead yet.

He is suspicious, and that fills him with dread. He closes his laptop, and does not sleep that night, instead counting each individual speck of popcorn on his ceiling.

The day after that, he doesn't even bother changing out of his pajamas, slips into his aging running shoes, the ones where the tongues flop over too far and the laces are too soiled to make a proper knot. He is there before most other people, before the sun has even started to crest the horizon.

It is there waiting for him. It stands at his periphery. He tries to look at it; when he does it moves away, quick as a flash, a glitch in a videogame.

It speaks in a garbled voice. Jaehwan does not understand. He does not try and film. This is a matter of pride, now, bigger than the Internet or than subscribers who may or may not believe in urban legends or, really, than life.

He almost thinks he understands it. It reaches out, wraps what feel like slimy fingers around his wrist. When it touches him, it steps directly into his field of vision...and it looks almost human, handsomely so. It has charming eyes, and lovely gills at either side of its neck, and its hands are webbed, and it is naked, and it is looking him in the eye. Its skin is dark, glowing, kissed by hours upon hours in the sun and greenish with algae and pond scum around its fishier bits. Its hair is tangled with bits of kelp and silt and dirt. There is a can ring around its ankle, and it kicks at it every so often, as if it's just going to float away if the creature tries harder.

Inexplicably, he wants to help it.

"What are you?" Jaehwan asks, voice quavering just a little.

It speaks again in that garbled voice, its fingers tightening around his wrist, pulling, pulling at him. It wants him to come near the water.

All that dread that had filled Jaehwan the night before has dissipated into nothingness. He wants to follow this handsome creature into the water. It does not bother him at all, the things he read, the stories, the promises that should he follow it, he will certainly drown.

He is ready to go. He steps out of his shoes, and nods in the creature's direction, and slowly descends into the frigid cold of the water. His skin sticks with hundreds, thousands of white-hot pins and needles. They jab him through his clothes, stealing the breath from him before he's even submerged. He struggles, but he continues on, his creature following him directly behind, never once letting him go.

When they are both a good ways out, up to their necks, the creature ducks its head beneath the surface, and Jaehwan swears he hears a song rising up from below. He looks around, mystified, but follows along, dying to hear the song close-up. His creature is singing, handsome face surrounded by bubbles, and it smiles at Jaehwan, extending a hand. Jaehwan takes the hand, gives it a squeeze of encouragement.

The song is wordless, but eventually it comes to an end, an aria Jaehwan had honestly wished would never finish. When it does, the creature speaks. "I've been waiting for you," it says, clear despite the bubbles foaming from its mouth. "You've been coming to visit me for days now, but never once knocked on the door."

"Are you going to kill me?" Jaehwan asks, surprised that he, too, can speak.

"Why would I kill you?" It looks at him incredulously, then takes both his hands in its own, threading their fingers. "You're mine, now. You belong to me. I chose you." It pauses, glancing away into the distance, where the light of the sun has started to phase into the water, making it a murky golden colour. "I wanted to know something, and that's why I brought you down here."

"What did you want to know?"

"Come with me."

They swim to a nearby sewage pipe and, despite his reservations, his knowledge of the outside world, he follows along with what's given him. The creature opens the grate with a great feat of strength, and they enter the pipe. Eventually it becomes less flooded, rising above the water level, and they're wading more than they are swimming.

"What's your name?" it asks, voice rising, a little excited. Jaehwan is shocked to realise that he still understands it, even through the screen of its voice above water.

"Lee Jaehwan."

"I'm Hakyeon. I think. I used to be Hakyeon, anyway. No one calls me that anymore."

"What do they call you?" Jaehwan tilts his head.

"You can call me whatever you like," Hakyeon says simply.

They trudge the shin-deep waters until they come to an intersect, and Hakyeon takes a right, a left, a right, so many turns that Jaehwan is sure he will die down here, abandoned, lost. Eventually, though, the tunnels come to a huge, open cavern, part manmade and metal, part rock. The walls are lined with streaks of green and grey. The light is dim, left behind by work crews, and flickers every so often, casting everything in a garish, grim, dying glow of fluorescence.

In the middle of the room is something that looks like Hakyeon, but smaller, prettier, with various bits of ribbony garbage woven into its braids.

"This is my daughter," Hakyeon says blithely, stepping forward and waving a hand in an almost dismissive manner, "and she needs another parent to teach her about her human side. I haven't been human in a really long time, so I don't know a lot about what to tell her."

"What does that have to do with me?" Jaehwan fights to keep from whining.

Hakyeon smiles, and his teeth are jagged and deadly and beautiful. "Help me take care of her. Help me teach her things about the world up above."

"Why me?" This time he does whine. He doesn’t know shit about the world up above, except the internet, and videogames, and a few friends, and more than a few lovers. He sorely wishes he had paid more attention in school. He is going to die here, once Hakyeon realises what an idiot he is.

"I chose you because you kept visiting, but you waited to be invited in." Hakyeon's smile grows exponentially, and the light in here is dim, but it catches those razor teeth just the same, leaving his smile glinting maliciously. "You know more about manners than most."

Jaehwan looks from Hakyeon's grin, to the girl between them, then back to Hakyeon.

He does not feel he has a choice. He is afraid Hakyeon will leave him to find his own way out should he refuse. He has long since forgotten the start of this venture, trying to decipher an urban legend for followers, and now only wishes he had never started, but this beautiful creature before him has enticed him and, effectively, trapped him here.

He looks around at his prison. It is not so bad, he decides, his skin missing the sunlight already.

So he swallows, Adam's apple bobbing heavy in his throat, and anchors himself on the damp cavern floor.

"Hi, little one," he says cheerfully, cupping his cheeks in his hands and forcing a bright smile of his own, one that he just barely manages to keep from becoming a terrified grimace. "What's your name?"

"She's your daughter now, too," says Hakyeon. "You can name her. I haven't."

As the girl toddles up to him on unsteady legs that look as if they'd rather be treading water, Jaehwan stares into Hakyeon's happy face, and nods, heartbeat going reedy and weak. "We'll figure something out."


	7. poppet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He looks every part the grieving widow, and his heart follows suit, lifted only by the whispers that pass him by when he passes a crowd.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> at this rate i will have this collection completely posted by 2020  
> the idea here is that, in victorian times, occasionally queer couples would pose as straight ones in order to pass and be able to live together and whatnot, i read it in...some book  
> anyway enjoy this

Recently widowed, Hakyeon goes to the local Curiosities Shoppe. He does not know what to expect; friends of his, important ladies or the mistresses of important men, have whispered to him about the Shoppe at various parties and events, spoken of the wonders that are done there.

"And the doctor," they all claim, eyelids fluttering. "He's so charming."

He is dressed in mourning, as he usually is these days, his waist cinched with a red ribbon that complements the black of his garb. He clicks down the cobbled streets in impossibly high heels. He looks every part the grieving widow, and his heart follows suit, lifted only by the whispers that pass him by when he passes a crowd.

_Did you hear the widow..._

He holds his head a little higher. No one helps a widow.

The front window to the Shoppe is marked with streaks of dust, cobwebs, the typical grime of running a coal fireplace through a cold winter. Hakyeon stares into the window, trying to glean something before his entry, but it's as impassable as one could imagine a front window of a house of oddities to be, and so he steels himself. He shrugs his fur tighter around his shoulders. He enters.

It's almost unearthly warm inside, but he keeps his fur close anyhow. The air is musty, smells of melted wax and ancient books and cinnamon and...something familiar, though he can't quite place what it is. He calls out quietly, not really wanting to interrupt. He lifts his head and a model of the stars is mapped out inside it, hand-drawn and almost seeming to twinkle.

A young man with dusty brown hair emerges from behind a lace curtain and takes a seat at a desk right in front of it. "Hello, and welcome to the Shoppe of Curiosities," he says, offering a seemingly fragile smile. He props his boots up on his desk, gestures that Hakyeon cross the distance between them, have a seat. "I'm Dr. Lee." He lifts the thick, metal frames of his spectacles, gives Hakyeon a good long look, and then his face lights up with recognition. "You're the widow, aren't you? I've heard about you from a few of my customers. Would you like a cup of tea?"

He nods, and lets the young doctor fix him some chamomile, the scent of which delights him, though he trains his face into not showing anything, the mourning period too deeply set in for him to give up now.

"What can I help you with?" asks Dr. Lee, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with one hand, pushing a plate of tea biscuits across the desk with the other.

"It's...my former husband," confesses Hakyeon, picking up a biscuit without any real intention of eating it. It's in his mouth before he even puts another thought into it. The biscuit is homemade and tastes, dare he say it, _magical_.

There must be something in that biscuit, though, because Hakyeon's hands go to his chest and he starts to shake, his shoulders racked with sobs he didn't know he still contained.

"I miss him," he gasps out, chest getting tighter with every breath. "I miss him so much that it's sure to kill me."

"Your husband?" Dr. Lee takes his feet off the desk in favour of leaning forward, elbows on the surface instead, chin in his palms. His eyes are huge with questions, but he must hold them back, because he doesn’t say anything.

"It hurts too much," says Hakyeon, his crying subsiding and he resting his hands neatly in his lap, one wringing the other from time to time out of anxiety. He looks up with bleary eyes, the neat black ringing them starting blur his vision, apparently smudging. He hadn't intended on crying, but that damn magic biscuit had tricked him. He sips at his tea.

(The veil over his eyes shields his tears from being seen, anyway; he supposes that this is the point of such a vestment, and thanks himself for thinking this far in advance as to keep himself protected.)

The doctor, if he can even be called that -- he is pale, wears a strange hat that fully encircles his head, and stares with eyes so wide they seem able to swallow the universe with their cherrywood depths -- nods seriously, then smiles, revealing deep dimples. He seems awful young to be a doctor, but Hakyeon doesn't think he's much a judge. He's too young to be a widower, after all.

"I understand completely," says the doctor, confident, voice so deep that Hakyeon can feel it in the very center of him, resonating, thick and wonderful. "I'll make for you a tonic, and you'll take it, and all your heart problems will simply...disappear. My assistant actually came up with the formula. Wonsik?" The doctor lifts his head a fraction, turns to the curtain behind him, and a crash can be heard, a string of muttered language the likes of which Hakyeon has only heard of but never actually heard spoken.

A messy-haired, equally young man emerges from behind the curtain. He, too, wears spectacles, perfect circles in silver that round his curious but sleepy eyes. He looks Hakyeon up and down, then grunts and turns to the doctor. “What’m I doing?” His accent is all informality.

“You’ll prepare one of our droughts for pain, and it’ll be ready for the widow by tomorrow afternoon at the latest,” states Dr. Lee, slowly and clearly.

“I will,” agrees this Wonsik, and he ducks back into the back, a look of duty on his face.

“My dear widow, if you’ll excuse me, we’ve much work to do,” announces Dr. Lee brightly. “As I told my assistant, you’ll have to come back tomorrow for your tonic. And until then, please, surround yourself with friends and loved ones so that your pain does not become too great.”

Hakyeon nods, but does not move, the chamomile making him a touch sleepy. Eventually he gathers himself and exits the shoppe, makes his way home. He does not follow the doctor’s advice, however; his few remaining loved ones left him when he married, and friends do not go far in times of grief, so he chooses to be alone in this, his period of mourning. When he falls asleep that night, it is to the sound of his own sobs filling his empty bedroom, taking up the space in his bed where his husband used to lay.

The very next day he returns to the shoppe, three in the afternoon on the dot, and Dr. Lee is sitting at his desk as if he’s been awaiting Hakyeon’s return. “Hello, dear widow,” says he, flashing that charming smile, the deep wells of his dimples. Hakyeon bustles in and takes the same seat he’d taken yesterday, his heels clicking against the hardwood floor as he crosses it. “Tea and biscuits, or will it just be business today?”

“Business,” declares Hakyeon, fighting the urge to glare at the good doctor. “Is it ready?”

“Don’t be in such a hurry,” chuckles the doctor, shaking his head, his smile going a little crooked, a little off, sending a heavy shudder down Hakyeon’s spine. “But you’re correct, it’s ready. Let me go fetch it from my assistant, and we’ll make an exchange, alright?” The doctor rises from his seat and disappears behind the curtain. Hakyeon waits impatiently, tapping his toe noisily.

Eventually Dr. Lee returns holding a very small, iridescent glass bottle with a cork stopper. He offers it to Hakyeon with a smile. “Now, we don’t take payment of the monetary variety here, my dear widow. Instead, you have to do me a favour.”

“What’s that?” asks Hakyeon, perhaps a little dry, eyes narrowing.

“Keep your eyes closed after you drink this, lest you accidentally fall for the wrong person.” Dr. Lee’s eyes sparkle with mischief.

“You still haven’t told me what this does,” Hakyeon points out, but he’s already being ushered out of the shoppe by Dr. Lee’s assistant, Wonsik, who had peeked out in the middle of their transaction. “Please do have a good day, my dear widow,” says Dr. Lee, bowing his head in thanks. “And please do remember that favour you promised me.”

“I didn’t promise an--” 

But the door slams shut behind Hakyeon, the obnoxious tinkling of bells signifying to himself his own exit. 

What did that even mean? Hakyeon huffs his way down the boulevard, back in the direction of his own manor, unwilling to admit his own mystification in regards to the exchange he just had with the good Dr. Lee. The bottle rattles in his pocket, and though it makes no noise, weighs almost nothing, he is acutely aware of its presence. The end of his suffering is just a moment away. He stops on a street corner, waiting for a passing carriage, and in the meantime fishes the bottle from the pocket of his dress.

He examines the various colours displayed in the glass as the sun shimmers and reflects off it. The liquid inside is clear, with a couple flecks of gold here and there suspended in motion. He does not understand what could possibly happen that he would need to close his eyes.

Almost as if to spite the doctor, Hakyeon uncorks the bottle and swallows its contents right there. His eyes land on a man standing across the street, all tall and milk-white with long, wavy lanks of black hair framing his face. Hakyeon sees this stranger -- not a stranger, he realises, an old friend named Taekwoon -- and his face gets hot almost immediately. His pulse starts to race. He steps out into the road, a hand outstretched, meaning to call out for Taekwoon to meet him in the middle of the street.

His heel catches on one of the cobblestones and snaps; he tumbles onto the ground, hands covering his face to mask the shame and embarrassment that start to overwhelm him. How could the love of his life see him make such a fool mistake? He’ll never forgive himself.

Taekwoon’s voice filters into Hakyeon’s ears, and he raises his eyes just above the line his hand is forcing in front of them. “Are you alright, dear widow?” he asks, soft, gentle, helping Hakyeon to his feet. “I’m sorry, I-- I know you from somewhere.”

Hakyeon’s heart swells a dozen sizes. “We used to be friends in grammar school.”

Taekwoon is still letting Hakyeon lean on him for support, neither of them moving in this moment. He searches Hakyeon’s face thoroughly, his head tilting one way, his bottom lip jutting out the other. Then realisation dawns on him, and he shakes his head, face frozen in horror. 

Late nights of studying in a locked room, just the two of them. Stolen kisses here and there. Hakyeon speaking when Taekwoon was too tired or withdrawn to do so for himself. Hands that fit together perfectly. Joking (and sometimes serious) proposals of marriage, given over shared bottles of fruit wine taken from Taekwoon’s father’s cellar. They had parted ways when school was over, but Hakyeon never forgot the face of someone with whom he was in love.

“You don’t look like you anymore,” whispers Taekwoon as if it means nothing at all, and leaves Hakyeon to his fate, dashing back to the sidewalk.

Hakyeon, unable to deal with direct rejection any better than that of the indirect nature of death, calls out helplessly, falling to his knees, the many folds of his skirt billowing out beneath him, petals to a wilted black rose. His veil hides his tears.

It is just as he is about to rise again to unsteady feet and broken shoes that it happens, a carriage in a hurry striking Hakyeon square in his still-squatting frame, knocking him into the air, his veil coming untucked and hitting the ground shortly after he does. 

A scream rings out in the street. "She's dead!" they cry.

Taekwoon is the first to rush the scene of the accident, and he stoops, cradles Hakyeon’s bleeding, split head in his arms, lets him stain the sleeves of Taekwoon’s fresh white dress shirt. His lips move soundlessly, and Taekwoon leans in to listen, the strain unfamiliar but comforting all the same.

“I love you,” says Hakyeon, his eyes slipping closed quickly.

“Someone call Dr. Lee!” screams Taekwoon, stare darting this way and that, fixing on random passersby in their passage. Everyone nearby stops a moment, but keeps moving.

No one helps a widow.

Taekwoon scrambles, still holding Hakyeon’s limp frame to himself, and snatches his veil, tucking it back into his hair where it belongs. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, over and over, until he is yelling, until his voice is hoarse with the effort. 

When Hakyeon is long gone and the good Dr. Lee arrives too late, Taekwoon has Hakyeon’s head in his lap. He rests coins from his own pocket on Hakyeon’s eyes. “I loved you first,” he murmurs quietly. He lifts his head to the doctor and his assistant, who stand over him, watching on in dismay. “Dr. Lee, you cannot help him now.” A pause. “But you can help me forget him, can’t you?”

The doctor looks to his companion, and they share secret smiles. “Of course, good sir. Had we known business would keep us as busy as it has, we would have come this town much sooner.”

**Author's Note:**

> as always feel free to follow me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/takoyaken) to find out what i'm probably avoiding working on


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